


Imprinted

by FantasticWinter



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Imprinting, M/M, Omega!Jerome, a/b/o dynamics, alpha!bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 07:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/pseuds/FantasticWinter
Summary: The Children’s Hospital Charity dinner doesn’t go how anyone planned.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Imprinted

At first he thought he might be catching a cold. An ache settled deep into Jerome Valeska’s bones that he just couldn’t shake. Being sore wasn’t new to the sixteen year old circus worker, between his daily beatings from Uncle Zach to shoveling heaps of elephant dung all day, sore muscles were just par for the course. However, this was _different_. An aching, a burning so bad that Jerome struggled to stay focused. 

Talia, the circus’ resident elephant, seemed to catch on to Jerome’s illness as she shifted from foot to foot, ears moving back and forth. Her long trunk reached out and settled on Jerome’s shoulder as if to help him stay on his feet. Her dark eyes focused on the teen and she let out a soft, distressed noise. 

Jerome’s lips tugged into a small smile, he reached up to gently pat her trunk. Talia seemed to be the only living being in the circus that gave a damn about Jerome. “I’m alright, girl. Thanks for worryin’ ‘bout me.” Jerome brought the back of his wrist to his forehead, wiping the bit of perspiration that had gathered on his pale skin. 

A banging on the iron bars of Talia’s enclosure startled both of them and Jerome’s eyes snapped to the producer of such a noise. Ray, the plump middle-aged ringmaster hissed at Jerome, “Talia’s pen was supposed to be done fifteen minutes ago! Pick up the pace, boy!”

Rolling his eyes, Jerome got back to work but it seemed that Talia didn’t forgive Ray’s interruption so easily. Her trunk slipped off Jerome’s shoulder and dipped into her large barrel of water. Jerome saw the movement from the corner of his eye, lips twitching into a smile, sensing what she was going to do. Just as Ray was about to leave, a torrent of water shot from Talia’s trunk, dousing Ray completely. The ringmaster let out a shout of surprise, drawing a laugh from Jerome. 

Ray whirled around, held up a finger as of to berate the giggling teen but realized that Jerome hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Huffing, Ray grumbled, “finish the damn pen and get working on the others, Jerome,” before stomping off. 

“Nice work, old girl,” Jerome praised, gently patting her leg, offering her a wide grin and a wink. Talia, pleased with herself, wiggled her ears and let out a delighted noise at having cheered up the boy. 

Jerome nearly finished her pen when the first cramp rippled through his abdomen. His arm shot out to grip an iron bar to help keep himself on his feet as an involuntary gasp parted his lips. Perhaps the stew Zach had made the night before hadn’t been good? Though Jerome didn’t hear anyone else getting sick when he made his way through the circus residents that morning. 

“I’m okay,” Jerome immediately told Talia as he dragged the shovel towards the gate of the enclosure. He managed to get out and secure it, panting, as he leaned back against the iron bars. “Jus’ need to rest for a minute.” Jerome’s eyes screwed shut, arm wrapped around his middle. Blowing out a shaky breath, Jerome straightened up slowly and hurried from the animal pens, trying to make it back to the trailer he shared with his mother. He hoped she wouldn’t be home, he didn’t know if he could deal with her right then. 

After what seemed like ages, Jerome stumbled into the trailer, relief flooding him as it became apparent his mother was not in, most likely picking her next lover for the night or stocking up on booze since they’d just been paid that morning. 

Their trailer was small, crowded and messy no matter how much Lila beat Jerome to get it cleaned up. Of course, the countless empty alcohol bottles that were discarded carelessly every night helped increase the mess but somehow that, too, was Jerome’s fault. 

All that separated Jerome’s mattress on the floor from the rest of the trailer was a thin sheet hung up from the ceiling. It did nothing to stop the loud noises of his mother’s nightly sex escapades. He could remember when he and Jeremiah would lie in bed talking to one another to distract from the noises until they were just too exhausted to stay up. 

He still missed his twin, despite it being nearly six years since Lila had sent him away. That had been the worst beating he’d ever gotten, the morning when he discovered Jeremiah gone, Lila had screamed at Jerome; something about a knife and setting the bed on fire, which made no sense because Jeremiah’s bed was his bed too. After that morning, beating Jerome black and blue, leaving him barely conscious, his mother had completely and utterly given up on him. The only attention Jerome got from his mother was her fist, nails, or open palm. That didn’t include the times she’d bring Uncle Zach or one of her nightly partners into the mix just to shake things up a bit. 

Jerome doubled over with a grunt of pain as another cramp tore it way through his insides. It felt like he was being torn apart. His eyes flew open when he felt a rush of something wet in his underwear. Had he just _shit_ himself? The teen stumbled his way into the bathroom, knocking down an empty whiskey bottle when his hand shot out to grip the table so fast that he jostled the surface, sending the bottle tumbling to its demise. 

Once Jerome made it into the bathroom, he slammed the door shut and quickly started to unbutton his pants. He slipped his jeans down his legs, letting them pool around his ankles and then did the same with his boxers, except he paled several shades and his eyes widened when he looked down. He never thought he would prefer to have shit himself.

“No, no, no,” Jerome stumbled back until his shoulder blades collided with the wall behind him. Slick coated his thighs. He couldn’t be presenting Omega. Male Omegas were extremely rare and often used to increase the wealth of the parents, as they could sell them off to the highest bidder for a small fortune. Jerome had no doubt it’s what his mother would do.

He wished Jeremiah were here. Jeremiah probably would’ve read a book or something about what to do. Jeremiah knew _everything_. 

Yanking just pants and underwear back up, Jerome made his way out of the bathroom, stumbling over his own two feet in his haste. He gripped the door of his mother’s bedroom and cursed when he found it locked. Of course the bitch would lock her room when she wasn’t around, she didn’t want Jerome snooping around, stealing her things.

Jerome cried out softly, hand pressed against his lower abdomen. He pressed his forehead to the solid wooden door and took a few breaths in and out to regain control. His mother was an Omega, she had suppressants in her room. All he had to do was get to them so he could stop the heat in its track so he could go to the city and get his own suppressants. But, his bitch of a mother had locked the goddamn door.

His eyes cracked open and he saw an ugly statue that Mr. Cicero had given his mother several years ago. An ugly thing of a snake winding around a tree. Jerome always had always hated it, but it could be useful in breaking the doorknob of the door. It seemed sturdy enough, anyway. 

Jerome reached out and grabbed the statue before taking a step back away from the door. He held the statue in both hands before bringing it down hard against the doorknob. He did it again and again, leaving himself panting, until finally the doorknob broke off and clattered to the floor. Instead of making sure to put the statue back, Jerome let it just slip from his fingers, he could hear a piece of it break off from the fall. _Oh well_ , Jerome thought to himself, _the thing gave him the creeps anyways._

Once inside his mother’s room, it didn’t take long for him to find her suppressants in the bedside drawer. He took two pills, just in case, to stop the oncoming heat. He slipped a few more pills into his pocket so he had enough for a few days so he wouldn’t have to go into the city that night. 

Stumbling his way out of her bedroom, Jerome made it to his own mattress and collapsed onto it. He hoped to be able to sleep, let the pills do their job. He wouldn’t let anyone know he was Omega. Maybe everyone would believe he was a Beta if he stayed on the suppressants. He wouldn’t let his mother make a dime off of selling him to some pervy old man who wanted to keep Jerome as some sex slave. He’d die before he let that happen. 

It was dark when he was woken by the feeling of his mother’s foot slamming into his rib cage and then face in quick succession. She grabbed his hair and yanked him up right, screaming about her door and beloved statue. She backhanded him hard enough to see stars but his lips spread into a smile, showing bloodstained teeth. She said nothing about him being an Omega. The suppressants worked. 

**********

Managing to become stand-in for the suddenly missing magician for the children’s hospital charity benefit had been easier than stealing candy from a baby. With his disguise in place, no one recognized Jerome as the red-headed psychopath that had just killed the police commissioner. The rush of the last few days had been head-spinning and Jerome felt like he walked on clouds. 

Galavan believed in Jerome, and he hadn’t had someone believe in him - - _ever_. 

He also didn’t seem to care that Jerome was an Omega. Jerome wasn’t sure exactly how Galavan had found out, perhaps he took a peek into his files at Arkham. After his arrest and transfer to Arkham all it had taken was the mandatory physical exam for them to figure out what he was. Luckily, patient privacy laws applied to deranged killers so no one aside from a few nurses that gave him his pills in the morning knew what he truly was.

That is until Jerome saw a box of suppressants on his bed after Galavan had broken him out of Arkham. He’d been on edge, worried that Galavan would try something but the man hadn’t seemed to care and he never mentioned it. 

He even let Jerome lead the Maniaxs. 

Now, he was leading the biggest night in Gotham’s recent memory and the city has had quite a few recently. Tonight would be the night that everything changed. Anticipation ran a jolt down Jerome’s spine as he glanced over at Barbara. She offered him a wink and a wide smile. 

Finally, it was their cue and they both got into position, opening the act with the flourish of true showmanship. Jerome was quite impressed with Barbara, she had a stage presence to almost rival his own. _Almost_.

They performed a few basic magic tricks to get the crowd going. The rich bastards fed right into it all, laughing and clapping. Jerome couldn’t wait for those laughs to turn into screams. His smile grew wider at the thought. 

It was time for their first volunteer, a special volunteer, one that Galavan had picked out himself. Jerome didn’t know why he was so obsessed with the boy billionaire but he didn’t really care. It would be nice to make _Gotham’s Prince_ bleed. Maybe he would even cry a bit. Jerome really hoped so.

He watched as the boy, a few years younger than himself, stepped onto the stage with Barbara. They did the classic saw in half trick and when he bent down to get closer to the boy’s face, Jerome blinked at the slight musky, spicy scent that came off of him. The boy billionaire was an Alpha. A shudder ran through Jerome and he paused. Barbara’s hand gently brushed over Jerome’s shoulders to snap him back, making him jolt back a step.

“Give them a wave,” Jerome said with a playful smile, gesturing to the crowd with a sweep of his hand. He took a breath and let it out. He’d been around Alphas before, the world had an over abundance of them but none of them smelled as good as Bruce. 

Shaking himself, Jerome offered Bruce a grin as Barbara helped him out of the box and off the stage. Jerome wished he could’ve kept the Alpha with him. Jerome tilted his head a bit as Bruce glanced over his shoulder back towards the stage. Their eyes met and a feeling he couldn’t quite describe filled Jerome’s core. He tore his eyes from Bruce, not liking how unsettled the Alpha made him. 

He called the deputy mayor on stage and claps erupted from the crowd. Jerome’s eyes found Bruce again as the mayor made his way up to the stage with Barbara. There was a split moment when Jerome actually considered not following through. He didn’t want Bruce scared - - scared of him. 

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Jerome picked up one of the throwing knives, twirling it between his fingers. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, Galavan’s, Barbara’s, _Bruce’s_. Tonight was his night, the night he’d become the star of the show. Galavan had big plans for the city - - plans that included Jerome. 

He saw Barbara cock her head to the side. He was taking too long, there was an uneasy feeling spreading through the air as the crowd waited anxiously for him to throw the knife. The world around him seemed to slow for a moment and he noticed he felt the anticipation, the urge to see what happened next, as if he were part of the crowd. His eyes lifted and he saw Bruce once more and the look of those emotions were clear on the teenager’s face. 

Was he feeling Bruce’s emotions? 

_Huh_ , Jerome thought, _not something he quite expected._

“Jerome,” Barbara hissed through her teeth, flashing the crowd a wide, charismatic grin. She’d already showed her identity to Lee and the Medical Examiner had already undoubtedly placed a call through to Detective Gordon. He had to make his move.

His hand flung out quickly, sending the knife sailing through the air. The weapon lodged itself deep into the target behind the mayor after missing the man by less than an inch. The crowd cheered and applauded. Jerome caught the look on Galavan’s face, a dark look in those eyes and a sudden chill ran down Jerome’s body. He’d gone off script. But, it’d been worth it. He didn’t want Bruce scared.

Perhaps, he really was insane. 

Cheers quickly turned into screams and Jerome’s head snapped to the side, taking in the sight of Barbara plunging one of the knives deep into the deputy mayor’s heart. 

Fear shocked Jerome’s body as the rest of their crew exposed themselves, pulling out their guns and firing them into the air. His eyes quickly tried to find Bruce in the chaos of the crowd but he’d lost him. Panic filled him. What if Bruce got hurt?

_Why was he so obsessed with his well-being?_

The show went on, whether Jerome wanted it to or not. The fear in the air should’ve been exciting, Jerome should’ve been thriving, especially when Barbara removed his disguise to reveal his identity to the crowd. He should’ve laughed at the horror on all the rich people’s faces.

But, all he could think about was where Bruce had gone. Galavan had specifically asked Jerome to take Bruce hostage, to kill Bruce. Just the thought of killing Bruce made Jerome’s stomach tighten into knots, a wave of nausea rolled over him. 

Barbara was suddenly right in front of him, her blue eyes searching his face as one of her hands shot up to grip Jerome’s jaw and cheeks in a vice grip. Her nails dug into his flesh deep enough to sting and draw some blood. “Get your head straight, Jerome! You’re acting crazy, even for you!” She hissed before letting him go roughly. 

Suddenly, Galavan’s voice rang out and he gave his rousing speech. Jerome had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Galavan definitely shouldn’t quit his day job of being a mastermind planner. His acting sucked. Whoever saw his performance and didn’t think it was scripted surely was blind. 

They went through the motions, Galavan got to introduce himself - - and he _really_ went to face the camera as he did so, and then Barbara smacked him over the head with the prop hammer, hard enough to leave a bump but not enough to cause actual harm. As they continued on through the act, Barbara tying up Dr. Thompkins and messing with a few of the other guests, Jerome kept thinking about a way he could get Bruce out of the gala without killing him. 

Jerome supposed he could kill Barbara and Galavan but Barbara was sneaky. Jerome knew she had a few tricks up her sleeve and Galavan even more so. He didn’t feel like dying, not yet. 

“Now, for the first official victim, the Prince of Gotham and my favorite volunteer,” Jerome called out, swallowing thickly as his eyes scanned the crowd. “Bruce Wayne!” 

The room was quiet aside from a few murmurs from the audience. Everyone looked around but Bruce wasn’t anywhere to be found. “Bruce,” Jerome called again, “come on out. Don’t be shy.”

When the fifteen year old didn’t appear, Jerome heard Barbara say, “kill his butler.”

The lower lid of Jerome’s eye twitched but he offered a wide grin as he accepted the idea. The butler was pushed onto the stage. 

“Stop!” Bruce cried out, making his way to the stage and Jerome’s grin widened. He lowered the knife from the butler’s throat and hopped off the stage, wanting to get to Bruce as quickly as possible. He could feel the fear and panic running through Bruce and he wondered, briefly, if Bruce could feel his emotions? Could Bruce feel how Jerome worried about him, how much Bruce’s scent had affected him?

As Jerome approached, shots echoed in the room and he saw that Gordon had breached the Gala. Jerome’s lips twitched into a smile as he wrapped his arm around Bruce’s waist and his other around the young Alpha’s neck, the edge of the blade pressing against the pale skin. 

“I can’t get a clean shot,” Gordon kept his gun aimed at Jerome.

“Steady now, Bruce,” the butler tried to assure his ward. 

Jerome could feel Bruce trembling against his chest. Lowering his face to Bruce’s neck, Jerome breathed in deep and he grinned, letting out a laugh. “You smell divine, Brucie,” he whispered into the teen’s ear. “Better than anything I’ve ever smelled before. Do you feel it? I feel what you feel, Bruce. Do you feel what I feel?”

To Jerome’s surprise, Bruce’s voice didn’t shake as he said, “worry. Excitement.” Bruce turned his head slightly, the blade drawing some blood with the movement but Jerome quickly moved the blade up slightly to keep from hurting the young Alpha. “You’re an omega,” he said softly and the words stunned Jerome.

_How did he know?_

“That’s enough,” Galavan exclaimed and Jerome turned towards the older man. This wasn’t part of the script, he was supposed to kill Bruce and then Galavan would get up. Something wasn’t right.

What happened next went by so quickly that Jerome couldn’t process it all. There was a glint of something metal in Galavan’s hand and then as he lifted the knife Jerome could hear Bruce shout something and suddenly he was on the ground, Bruce laid on top of him. 

Galavan had tried to kill him and Bruce had saved his life. 

Jerome saw other police officers surrounding Galavan, talking him down and getting the weapon from him. Barbara made her planned escape but Jerome was pinned under Bruce. They both breathed hard, their eyes met, and for a moment all that existed was Bruce. It was as if their souls bonded together. Jerome couldn’t explain, couldn’t put it into words. But, in that moment Jerome knew he would do anything for Bruce. 

Bruce was pulled off of Jerome and then the Omega was yanked around so they could secure cuffs around his wrists. The entire time Jerome’s eyes were on Bruce, even as the butler wrapped an arm around his shoulders and turned him away. 

“Let’s get you back to Arkham,” Gordon grabbed Jerome by his cuffed wrists and pulled the Omega to his feet. Jerome stumbled, fighting Gordon as he tried to keep his gaze on the dark haired teen.

“Bruce!” Jerome called and Gordon paused, as did Bruce and the butler. He thought he’d heard Bruce call the man Alfred. Bruce turned to face them and the Alpha’s eyes shone with tears. Jerome jerked in Gordon’s hold again. His Alpha was upset. “Let me get to him! That’s my Alpha!” 

Gordon stiffened behind Jerome and Alfred’s eyes widened, meeting the detective’s. Bruce took a step closer to them and then another. Soon, the young Alpha stood in front of Jerome, a man who had killed multiple people, including his own mother, and Bruce looked at him with a tenderness that made Jerome’s heart ache. Bruce lifted a hand and cupped Jerome’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” Bruce offered a small smile, his tone instantly soothing the Omega. “I’m right here. Calm down.” He seemed too young to be holding his composure like this, too young to have imprinted on someone. 

Both Alfred and Gordon knew what was happening between the boys. They could tell by the scents that they were giving off, the way Jerome and Bruce looked at one another. Imprinting was rare, just as rare as a male Omega. Once a pair imprinted, they couldn’t be separated for long periods of time, or else they’d be slowly driven into madness and sickness. 

As with everything in modern society, once a pair were mates, and Bruce and Jerome were mates in every way except the mark, the Alpha took responsibility for the Omega. It wasn’t a fair system or right by any means but it was the society they all lived in. Bruce Wayne would now be responsible for Jerome Valeska. Bruce wouldn’t serve time for Jerome’s past crimes but if Jerome committed anything in the future then Bruce, as well as Jerome, would be punished. 

The imprinting meant that Jerome had to be left in Bruce’s custody.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, drawing the young Alpha’s attention. Bruce’s dark eyes tore away from Jerome to look at Alfred. “You know what this means, lad? What’s happened?”

“We’ve imprinted,” Bruce said casually, as if he hadn’t just had his life tied to that of a murdering psychopath. Bruce’s eyes shifted to look at Gordon, who still held the links of Jerome’s cuffs tightly. “That means he has to be released to us, right, Detective Gordon? He won’t be going to Arkham.”

Jerome zoned out of the conversation, his ears ringing slightly as his eyes took in the settling down of the chaotic evening. He saw Galavan watching him like a hawk and Jerome offered him a cheeky smile. Galavan could bet his sweet ass that Jerome would tell Gordon all about Galavan breaking them out of Arkham, about how Galavan had Mayor James prisoner. 

The look Galavan gave him in return was thunderous but Jerome couldn’t find it in him to care. He had Bruce now and that’s all that mattered. 

Gordon gave Jerome a slight shake, forcing him to lose eye contact with Galavan. “Are you listening to me, Valeska?”

“Sorry,” Jerome flashed another smile, “jus’ a bit distracted. Very exciting day.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes and he said, “you know how imprinting works, don’t you, Valeska?”

“Can’t say I do, Jimbo,” Jerome turned his head to look over his shoulder at the detective. 

“If you hurt Bruce, you feel it. You will both feel each other’s emotions, each other’s pains.” Gordon leaned in closer to hiss into Jerome’s ear. “If he dies, you die. You got that?”

“I would never hurt my Brucie,” Jerome said, frowning at the thought.

“You just bloody near sliced his throat!” Alfred burst out, drawing a laugh from Jerome.

“A scratch isn’t exactly fatal,” Jerome rolled his eyes at the dramatics. He was supposed to be the dramatic one. 

“He didn’t mean it,” Bruce said, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. “The blade cut my skin when I moved to talk to him. He lifted the knife away as soon as he realized it had cut me. He doesn’t want to hurt me, Detective Gordon,” Bruce looked directly at the detective, “as soon as he smelled me, he knew he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Besides, you’re about to be busy with a certain billionaire,” Jerome grinned widely. Gordon twisted him around so he could face him, “or, don’t you wanna know who sprung me and a buncha crazies from the nuthouse?”

**********

By the time Alfred pulled the fancy, luxury car - - definitely more expensive than the trailer Jerome had lived in all his childhood - - up the driveway to Wayne Manor it was early in the morning. Gordon had taken Jerome down to the station, Bruce and Alfred coming along since Bruce didn’t want to leave his Omega. Jerome had laughed gleefully when the young Alpha had said that. The whole imprinting thing had really messed with both of their minds. 

Jerome had given his statement but of course Gordon hadn’t looked like he completely believed that billionaire Theo Galavan had broken the Maniaxs out of Arkham. However, Jerome then described the inside of Galavan’s home and gave out more details, enough for Gordon to get a warrant. Jerome figured they were probably raiding the penthouse by now and he hoped Galavan and his crazy bitch of a sister were arrested and thrown into the darkest pit Blackgate had to offer. That, or Gordon did the only sensible thing and put a bullet in their brains, but Jerome could only dream. Gordon was a straight cop with a moral code as strong as Lunkhead, the strongman from the circus. 

Peering out the window, Jerome’s mouth dropped slightly at the sheer size of the mansion that Bruce called home. 

Beside him, Bruce smiled at Jerome’s reaction, he could feel the wonder and excitement running through the Omega. “I take it you’ve never been to a mansion before?”

Jerome glanced at Bruce and snorted softly, “can’t say I have, Brucie. The place is huge.” The vehicle came to a stop and Alfred got out, opening Bruce’s door first and then moving around to Jerome’s though the reluctance was clear on the butler’s face as Jerome stepped out. 

Alfred shut the doors and then turned towards the cop stationed at the front entrance. There would be a police officer stationed at the front and back door of the manor until Galavan and his sister were in custody. Not only was Jerome the star witness against the pair but it was obvious that Galavan had his eyes on Bruce for whatever reason. 

The officer that Alfred spoke to looked towards Jerome and his eyes narrowed. That was fair, Jerome though, it had only been a day after all since he and the Maniaxs had taken out the commissioner. He could only hope that the fact that his life was tied directly to that of Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s favorite son, carried some weight. If they let some assassin in to kill Jerome, then Bruce would be killed as well.

“Let’s go inside,” Bruce said, stepping up right beside Jerome, his voice soft and soothing. Jerome nodded, letting the Alpha lead him through the large double doors into the luxurious home that reminded Jerome more of a museum than a house. Bruce watched as Jerome took in where he’d be living from then on. “I know it’s a lot but you’ll get used to it after a while.”

“I doubt that, Brucie,” Jerome answered honestly, turning as they heard Alfred come in after them, locking the front door secured. 

“Alright, I suppose both you chaps are hungry after such a long day. Why don’t I fix you two up something light to eat before bed?” Alfred kept his hands behind his back keeping a proper, polite stance but Jerome knew he wasn’t wanted at the manor. 

“That would be great, Alfred, thank you,” Bruce nodded, offering the man a small smile. “I was also thinking about upping our security system. You know, just in case.”

Alfred bowed his head a bit, “a fine idea, Master Bruce. I will make the proper calls in the morning.” He glanced at Jerome and his eyes lingered for a moment before he turned on his heel, heading in the direction that Jerome could only guess was the kitchen. 

Jerome turned back to Bruce and offered a grin, “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“I think everyone will need some time,” Bruce answered wisely and Jerome snorted again, walking over to an expensive looking vase and examining it. 

“What about you, Brucie? Are you going to need some _time_?” Jerome moved his eyes from the vase to a statue that looked just as old and expensive.

“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” Bruce said honestly, his eyes tracking Jerome’s every move, “and, you won’t do anything that would separate us - - such as committing crimes that could get us both locked up.” He took a step closer to the Omega and reached out, slowly, until his fingers brushed against Jerome’s arm. “I could feel how worried about me you were. You were worried that Galavan would kill me. You wouldn’t do anything to cause my death. I know it.”

Jerome turned so he faced Bruce, “you’re right. You’re mine. I don’t plan on losing you any time soon. I mean, losing you would also mean my untimely demise so,” Jerome shrugged, offering Bruce a grin.

Bruce laughed softly and Jerome promised himself he would try to make the Alpha laugh as much as he could. “I want to get to know more about you. You’re . . . Intriguing.”

“Not the worst I’ve been called,” Jerome reached out to stroke his fingers over Bruce’s pale cheek, feeling the soft, unblemished skin. He wondered if Bruce had ever been hit before, had ever felt the sting of a palm making contact with his cheek.

“No, I haven’t,” Bruce answered softly, their eyes locked. 

Sharing thoughts, too? Jerome didn’t knew how he felt about that. His mind often thought of things far too dark for Bruce, he didn’t want to scare him away. “I’m happy that you haven’t. It hurts. I don’t want you hurting, Brucie.”

Bruce lifted his hand and cupped Jerome’s cheek once more, “I’m sorry that you have felt it. Just know, I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe now, Jerome.”

“I know,” Jerome answered because he did know. He could feel the truth behind Bruce’s words. 

They were bonded together, heart, mind, and soul. It was stronger than love, stronger than anything words could name. They belonged together. It was beautiful and tragic and terrifying all at the same time. Bruce was Jerome’s prince, his _everything_.

“I think we’re going to make an excellent team, you an’ me, Brucie,” Jerome grinned widely.

Bruce’s lips twitched into a small smile and he nodded, “I think so, too.”


End file.
